Illusion
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: -NOW REWRITTEN- When it comes to running from reality, the Prince is always the fastest. Slight Bel/Mammon. Oneshot


_Inspired by _Love Triangle_ by _XXXlove hurtsX

**A/N:** This fic has been completely rewritten and is longer (and hopefully better) than the old one. It'd be nice if you reviewed.

_Disclaimer: As much as I want to own Reborn_,_ I don't think Amano-sensei would be very pleased with that.  
_

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The first time he heard the news, Bel thought it was a joke.

A joke Mammon was playing for the billionth time. No doubt it had something to do with money. That was all the greedy little Arcobaleno thought about. Bel wondered how he could gather money this time. Perhaps he was bribing the Millefiore? Using threats? Perhaps waiting for 'wanted' posters to show up and then secretly handing an illusion of himself in.

It was a joke.

It was _so_ a joke.

The next day, Mammon didn't show up at Headquarters. Bel wasn't worried.

Mammon loved games. He loved mind-bending riddles nobody could solve which lead to complete and utter confusion only to turn up in the midst and reveal the plot, sending Squalo crazy and Lussuria worriedly running around in circles. He loved dramatic appearances, appearing suddenly through the mist or with a loud sound that seemed to surprise none of the Varia members except their youngest.

Perhaps that was why Mammon liked him best. Bel always fell for his tricks.

Not that he minded, of course. Mammon was a sneaky little brat who didn't care about anyone but himself and was sure to hold grudges if Bel didn't go easy on him. That was normal; that was how the Varia had always worked.

He stayed in Headquarters all day that day, trying to find something entertaining. There was a kid in Mammon's squad...what was his name? Flan? No, Fran. He was _almost_ amusing, but not quite. Bel sharpened his knives, then dug them into Fran's back, then sharpened them some more. He left five minutes later, losing interest. He polished his tiara. He played with blood. He sharpened his knife and polished his tiara some more.

It was boring.

So boring.

Without Mammon.

A week passed. Bel fidgeted a lot.

Mammon was late. Mammon liked pranks. But Mammon's pranks had never been so large-scale. He had never been a whole week behind schedule. If he wasn't careful, he wasn't going to get paid this week. But like Bel cared; _he_ wasn't greedy.

Occasionally, the shadows flickered as he walked by. Bel convinced himself it was the light. Or it was the wind blowing his bangs into his eyes. He didn't leave Headquarters again. There was nothing interesting to do, and Fran had been an extremely temporary toy.

He spun his knives around his finger. He played with his tiara. He even tried twirling his hair. It was not fun. And all while he did that, he thought of Mammon. In the end he gave up and tried to imagine what he would say when Mammon finally turned up again.

Two weeks.

Mammon didn't turn up.

He almost began to get worried. Almost. But princes don't get worried anyway. What if Mammon _had_ run into trouble? Bel laughed. Mammon? Trouble? The two words didn't even fit in the same sentence. Besides, there was always Colonnello, just in case. Though Mammon could more than certainly protect himself.

He ignored the dread building up day by day. He ignored the fact that he didn't sleep and rarely ate. He ignored the funny looks that everyone gave him as they passed him in the corridors.

He just grinned.

And grinned.

Mammon would be back soon.

Weeks turned into months.

For the first time in his life, Bel felt a little anxious. He wouldn't call it that though. It was just an apprehensive feeling that came and refused to go away. But the Prince wasn't afraid of anything. He shut himself in his room. His hands had begun to shake now.

Bel wondered why.

Maybe it was because Mammon wasn't back yet.

It was such a small matter. There were missions that had gone on for months, and sometimes even years. The Boss himself had been cooped up for _eight_ years. If he could wait that long, he could wait for Mammon.

And when Mammon came back, he would hug him and squish those cute little cheeks and then pay some money just to hear the satisfied murmur in reply.

He kept grinning.

The time sped up, and suddenly a year had passed.

One whole year.

A whole year without Mammon.

Bel found himself almost frantically looking forward to the Arcobaleno's homecoming. He was looking forward to it so much that sometimes his imagination played tricks on him. Often he heard the opening of a door and even saw a small familiar hood poke through the doorway. He would jump up and rush to greet the Arcobaleno until he realized there was nothing there.

Other times Mammon hovered in front of him, but when he tried to stretch his arms out, Mammon smiled and disappeared.

Bel loved those smiles. But he hated the tricks.

Sometimes he would take short walks around the neighbourhood, just to see if anyone had seen a baby walking around. Mammon could disguise himself well, but he couldn't disguise himself forever.

Could he?

Three more months passed.

That's a three months and a year since Mammon's little joke.

It was about time to stop, wasn't it?

Considering that he had been replaced. By that stupid Fran kid, too.

Bel had protested against Mammon's replacement. Mammon was coming back. There was no point in replacing him. He _couldn't_ be replaced. Besides, that Fran kid didn't deserve to be a main Varia member. Squalo tried to convince him Mammon was gone.

He didn't believe it.

He knew that the rest of the Varia never believed him when he said Mammon would be back. They had given up hope; _they_ had simply accepted the fact that he was dead and moved on and never even gave him a proper thought or a few tears or burial or anything or—

But Mammon wasn't dead.

He was coming back.

Oh yeah.

He made the Fran kid a hat. It was to remind Fran that he would never replace the Arcobaleno. That the Mist position would never be his. It was still Mammon's, no matter what happened. And when Mammon came back, he could assume his position once again.

Another month flew past.

A year and four months since Mammon had died.

No! No! He wasn't dead! He was simply...missing in action. That was it. He was so not dead. So not...dead...so...not...

Was he?

Could he be?

_Could Mammon possibly be dead?_

Bel laughed.

He laughed and laughed until his insane giggles reverberated around the room and sounded like the mad rush of an unchecked waterfall. He laughed until his vision blurred and he could no longer stand still and the room was spinning and now the lights had gone out. He laughed until his voice cracked and broke, and he ignored the roaring and pounding on the other side of his door because Squalo _would not understand_. Because Squalo wasn't Mammon and Fran wasn't Mammon and _nobody_ was Mammon and nobody would ever be Mammon.

And it was then that Bel realized he was crying.

* * *

**A/N:** Ah, my poor poor Bel.

Review please? Even if it's just to tell me I fail at angst. (Though I tried, I honestly did!)

~CC


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